A Daisy Chain of Ridiculousness

How could a grown man have a face like the Little Debbie logo? It’s a question I cannot answer, but find myself asking from time to time. You know, because I regularly see a dude who looks like, well… Little Debbie. And I don’t often notice folks who resemble a corporate trademark. Ya know?

While I was at Wendy’s today I also saw a guy with air hockey pucks in his earlobes. And an elderly lesbian with a buzzcut, eating fries while standing at the counter. I don’t have a problem with the elderly lesbian part, but man, I hate it when people eat fries before they get to their table. You seriously can’t wait one more minute? Pigs.

I also don’t like it when people eat with a rhythm, if you know what I mean. Like a machine, with an identifiable cadence. And if the previous mouthful hasn’t been fully processed yet, it doesn’t matter. Another bite must be introduced, because the rhythm demands it. I’m simply not a fan. Shake that shit up a little!

Oh, and ol’ air hockey ears? Whatever. If someone wants to mutilate their sound-catchers with checkers or a class ring, then good for them. But don’t expect me to be impressed, just because you followed some idiotic trend. Or be shocked, or outraged, or whatever reaction you’re going for. I just think one word: douche.

I was talking with someone about this a few days ago, and they got up on their high horse: “Young people should be allowed to express their individuality, blah, blah, blah…” Did I say anything about not allowing it? No, I did not. But I should also be allowed to render the verdict of douche. It goes both ways.

And individuality? Ha! Doing the same stuff as all your friends is not exactly blazing the trail of a maverick.

It’s like those entertainers who talk about politics, in sober and earnest tones. They act like they’re being courageous, but what’s so courageous about having the exact same paint-by-numbers opinions as everyone you know? Just shut up and sing.

Oh yeah, and I also regularly encounter a person I’ve dubbed “Eb who says fuck too much.” It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it’s accurate. He looks like Eb and says fuck too much. Fuck is like garlic, a little goes a long way. Somebody needs to tell Eb this.

And just so you know… One of my cousins read my update a few days ago, about constipation, and said he once struggled so hard to “get one out” he ripped a handicap rail off the wall, in a public restroom.

And Steve told me his sister works with a woman who weighs roughly 350 pounds. She was in the bathroom at work, taking a dump and lighting matches to try to mask the stink. Something went wrong, and she caught her underwear on fire. Then she freaked out, tripped over her pants, and fell through a section of drywall.

Also, I used to know a girl named Annette, who lived in a dumpy apartment in Atlanta. She said she was sitting on the toilet one night, and a cockroach fell from the vent above her head. She didn’t notice it, and the roach landed on her underwear. When she pulled them up, she could feel something crawling around on her (Annette’s word, not mine) cooter. She said she almost exploded a kidney trying to rip her pants and underwear off. Heh.

And I don’t know what the hell kind of stream-of-consciousness, daisy chain of ridiculousness this update turned out to be. I don’t know whether to be happy with it, or apologize.

In any case, I hope you guys have a great weekend. I’ll be back on Sunday or Monday. We’ll just have to play it by ear.

I once was unpleasantly surprised by a very large cockroach that had been hiding behind the toilet paper, and appeared riding over the top as I was taking what I needed. I’m really glad I was alone in the apartment, because the resulting chaos was not exactly classy.

Tomorrow I’m flying up to Kansas City to see my mom and my sister. I love my family, but I’m already looking forward to getting black-out drunk when I get home on Monday night. Wish me luck surviving the weekend.

This is one of the greatest updates I’ve read in ages. not to say they havn’t been great, this one was just especially good.
Also, having lived in the shittiest of shit apartments, I can attest to the fear and utter disgust that comes with a movement in your clothing and it being a cockroach.

The cornerstone of a relatives vocabulary is “shit”. I once heard him use shit, in three different contexts, in the same sentence, (paraphrasing) “shit I don’t give a shit about that shit”. It’s a joy to have him around my 3 year old.

Boy Jeff, I love when you have a hair up your butt. The vision of the fatty with her panties in flames will carry me through this crappy day!

Speaking of those douchebags showing their “individuality”… We get a lot of them here in the office wanting their earlobes repaired. Usually, they stretch their earlobes so thin, the ring or dinner plate or whatever just splits the remaining skin and falls out. This is only after they realize that they have to enter real life and get a job because their freelance art work won’t support them….and neither will mommy and daddy.

I almost wrecked my car when a spider was swinging from a web inside the door frame. I freaked the fuck out. I pulled over to the side of the road and crawled out on my back. Some guy stopped to see if I needed help and killed the thing for me. Probably thought I was completely insane. But if that thing would have dropped on me, I’d still be in a rehab center sucking my thumb. Yes, I’m that afraid of them.

When we were kids, we didn’t have a clothes dryer. My mom hung everything outside. She would fold everything as she took it down and then put it away.
One time she took a fresh nightgown out of her drawer, put it on, and got into bed. Immediately she jumped up screaming tearing the thing off of her. She had folded a wasp into her nightie and had sat on it when she got into bed.
The story was shared by my late father, laughing so hard he had tears.
The story about the roach in the underwear… that would have put me in a psych facility for sure!

On an unrelated note; I just got off the phone with my CC company. Apparently on the same day I bought Jeff a beer using my card through the non-paypal paypal link I signed up for russiancupid.something or other to the tune of $24.95. The CC company is in the process of fixing it and opening a new account. Watch you statements, Surf reporters. The damn russkies had an ulterior motive. No harm, no foul. But the bastards tried.

I used to live in Cambridge, MA…a bastion of liberalism unmatched by any other. The place was teeming with metro- sexuals, emo types, hyper effeminate stay-at-home nurturing men who carried children in swaying bundles/slings against their chests like Cambodian refugees, patchouli-wearing dykes, tattooed hipsters, and douche bags with more face holes (piercings) than a kitchen colander. One I saw the following…. upon while exiting the subway at an above ground train stop landing covered with ice, in front of me was a hyper-skinny tattoo freak with soup can sized rings embedded in his ears. Well, he was wearing hyper pointy purple suede Italian shoes with smooth leather soles….he hit the ice, did a gymnast-worthy split and caught one of his dumbo ear hoops on the handle of the nearby newspaper vending box……rendering that hoop and his skin-ring into two dangling flesh-hoses spewing blood. He screamed and pissed his lime colored shinny jeans a split second later. No doubt he was late for his job at the Hipster Haven cafe. “Douche” …the one word I could muster